


Try as I Might, I'm Caught Forever in the Spiral

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [21]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, References to Addiction, Self-Harm, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can picture the lettering perfectly even with his eyes closed:  the little extended serif on the leading edge of the <i>v</i> despite the otherwise perfectly sans serif font.  The rounded letters.  The registered trademark symbol above the <i>n</i>.</p><p>Everything about it is burned into his brain.  No matter how long it’s been since he’s last seen it, one glimpse brings everything hurtling back.</p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>The Circus Isn’t Much Fun for the Animals, Somehow</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2300945/chapters/5061554">Missteps</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing sucks like crossed wires.
> 
>  
> 
>  **WARNING:** Mild (relatively speaking) self-harm and a near-miss with substance addiction. Loki's head is a bit of a mess here and it shows.

He dimly remembers being surprised to find Thor already home – Friday afternoons, Loki gets out on time and comes straight to the apartment; because the two of them normally go out for dinner, or at least fetch some takeout, there isn't usually a reason to stop for dinner fixings along the way - and leaning heavily against the kitchen cabinets. The start of what can really only count as a _nonversation_ is even blurrier. In fact Thor is still blathering on, stumbling slow and halting through a seemingly endless speech that started off along the lines of "I must have tripped over something…" and is still plodding along in the background now.

All Loki can hear over the pounding of his own heart is "blah blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah," though, and even that is rapidly fading into nothing.

Because there the mighty thing stands. _Right_ there on the kitchen island in front of his brother, looming proud and strong above a sheaf of crumpled papers, a receipt, and a smallish plastic bag: a plastic bottle, its white-and-light orange manufacturer's label half hidden beneath a multicolored prescription label replete with warning stickers, and next to that a white box sporting the familiar red lettering above a similarly peachy-orange **C III**.

Mecca and manna, all fused together in one neat vehicle.

Curse and salvation, rise and ruin.

The fucking holy grail to end all holy grails.

He can picture the lettering perfectly even with his eyes closed: the little extended serif on the leading edge of the _v_ despite the otherwise perfectly sans serif font. The rounded letters. The registered trademark symbol above the _n_.

Everything about it is burned into his brain. No matter how long it’s been since he’s last seen it, one glimpse brings a veritable tsunami of facts and feelings hurtling back.

_v-i-c-o-d-i-n_.

His best friend. His truest lover. His cruelest master.

His sharpest blade.

All that, and it’s standing right here in his own kitchen, come back to him after so, so fucking long. Just like it never left at all.

It’s inches from his fingers. _Inches_.

The bottle could be in his hand in half a second; the pills in his mouth in under three.

And even swallowed whole - his stomach is empty and growling for supper, after all, like the beast it is - this shit could take him _home, really home_ , in 25 fucking minutes.

_Holy fucking mother of one really fucking dead, rotting baby jesus._

Loki tries to hold his breath against the eager panting. His fingers twitch as his shaking hand comes up of its own volition and-.

"Hey." Thor's voice is sharper now. "Loki? Are you okay?"

It's enough to snap him about halfway back to the actual moment… to the warped, splintering edge of reality, where time once again moves forward and the ear-splitting screeching that’s all he can hear is just his own broken voice.

Loki shoots a hand out; it clenches around the bottle like a robotic claw. He whips the thing out of reach just as his brother makes an abortive attempt to reclaim it.

" _Give_ that to me," Thor demands, a fraction of a second before he pulls up short and half doubles over. " _Fuck!_ ” He steadies himself against the countertop, one hand pressed against his torso much as if he’s staunching a wound. "Loki," he begs, his upturned face contorted and sweating. "Please."

Loki clenches his teeth for a moment, stopping only when he feels something in his jaw shift painfully. "How could you be so stupid," he snarls. "Why would you _do_ something like this to me?" It doesn’t make any sense. He- he just doesn’t. He can’t.

"I fell at work, Loki," Thor pants out, and nothing about it is anywhere close to apologizing. "I hardly see how that's doing something to you. Hand it over," he insists, again, reaching for the bottle. "Now, Loki."

"No," Loki snaps. Anger helps; he’s no longer teetering on the edge of- of what to do. Of falling back into a hole so deep he might never reach the bottom.

The fucking pills shouldn’t be here. None of this should be happening.

He grits his teeth again, hand clenched so tight around the bottle that his knuckles go white and waxy-looking, then rushes out of the kitchen and down the hall.

~

" _What_ are you _doing?_ " Thor hobbles up behind him just as he flips the toilet lid up. It’s the last bit of motivation Loki needs; he twists the cap and tips the bottle over, sending the pills tumbling into the bowl. He can’t watch, but he doesn’t need to; the tiny plops and splashes tell him it’s done. He turns to the sink and carefully rinses out the bottle.

It’s an old drill, one he’s done many times before. Back when he thought he had to make a go of everything on his own. Which, apparently, he still does.

_Pour the water into the toilet. Reach for the lever. Flush._

There, thank fucking god… it’s over.

~

Except of course it isn’t, because nothing ever fucking is.

~

"You know, brother," Thor says, quietly furious now, "not everything in the world is about you."

"No," Loki snaps back, equally angry, "it's about you. Here,” he adds, slapping the bottle into his brother’s palm. _See how much good it fucking does you now._

He doesn’t stick around to see if Thor catches or drops it.

~

Loki paces back and forth in the bedroom, slamming things around and cursing. He’s too wound up to sit, too wound up to lie down, too wound up to call his coach. Too wound up to keep on living, maybe. He whips open the balcony door and lets it smack hard against its stops; in the end, though, he’s too cowardly to even go out there.

He doesn’t close the door, though. The cold air makes his lungs ache, and he _needs_ it. He needs to hurt just now.

What to do, what to do? His hands are shaking too badly to be trusted with _the box_ , even if he had the patience to dig it out from under the dresser (which he doesn’t, not a chance). Instead he rummages in the nightstand and comes up with… a pushpin, of all the stupid things to leave lying around. And – eyeing it under the bedside light - it’s not particularly sharp (as pushpins go) either.

~

At the last second, no matter how he tries, Loki is just not able to stab the little thing into his arm. Something- something stops him. Instead he uses it to- not cut, exactly; more like _gouge_ a series of shallow gashes into the inside of his arm. Up high, close to his armpit, where the skin is soft and sensitive and the pin’s slightly burred tip hurts like a motherfucker.

His eyes sting and water.

Loki doesn’t let that stop him. He doesn’t let anything stop him, not until there’s blood smeared everywhere and a lone rivulet of it trickles nearly down to his elbow.

_Fuck_.

There. Take fucking that.

Fuck.

~

It takes him a while to come down far enough to get himself back under control, but he does eventually manage. Loki wipes up as best he can, because doing so feels _important_ somehow, and then calls his coach like a good little monster.

~

As painful conversations go, this one is right up there. “We need to talk to Dr. Riley,” the coach tells him at last, and then conferences her in before Loki can even acknowledge.

She’s not unreasonable. She isn’t.

Even when _I am so, so fucking sorry_ seems to be the only thing he can make himself say.

~

_AHHHHHH!_

Loki’s body is awake before his brain, awake and dragging him away. Away from danger. Away from Thor.

~

"What did you do?" His brother rasps, hunched over and sick looking.

Loki blinks at him, not sure- what this is. Where this is.

"Why the blood," Thor explains, pointing.

"Oh." He follows the line of his brother’s hand. Sure enough, his own fingers are stained and crusty. "It's nothing," he says, popping them into his mouth and sucking like nobody’s business. When he pulls his hand free, the evidence is completely gone. "See? Nothing," he tells his brother, waving his fingers in the air. He’s more than half naked and the room is really, really cold. "May I have my covers?"

Thor’s eyes narrow. "Take off your shirt," he says.

"It's freezing in here," Loki points out. Master of the Obvious. “You can’t make-.”

"Take it off," Thor insists. "I'm not up to playing games tonight. Off."

~

His brother doesn’t stop with the _demands_ until Loki’s sloppy work is hanging out there for all to see. His arm burns, and his head is pounding. It’s clear there isn’t going to be any more sleeping, though, until this is dealt with. "See? Nothing,” he reassures Thor, showing off the- the stupid fucking _scratches_. “Mac is capable of worse."

Thor makes a face. "Do we need to call someone?"

Loki yawns loudly, too drained to care about covering his own mouth. "I did already,” he says. “Before I went to sleep."

Something in his brother’s expression shifts, despite the lingering signs of strain around his mouth and eyes. Thor tucks Loki's hair behind one ear. "Oh?"

"I talked to my sponsor, and my shrink,” He admits to his brother. “I sent pictures of the cuts, even. I'm supposed to call again in the- well, later this morning,” he continues, “but they were okay with me staying home. I've handled things worse." _He has_.

Thor stands there, silent and suffering. Loki is still freezing.

~

"I didn't think," his brother finally confesses.

Loki yawns again. He wipes his eyes. "That _is_ your trademark, after all," he says, but he’s too tired to put much heat behind it. "Life with an addict is challenging,” he points out. “At least that’s what it says in the manual.”

When Thor doesn’t answer, Loki – finally mostly awake – studies his brother closely. "You look like shit,” he says. It’s true. He can’t remember the last time Thor looked this bad, honestly. “Do us both a favor and be more careful."

~

And it _is_ bad, from the sound of it. His brother isn’t even willing to try getting in bed, even though they’re both so exhausted they’re shaking.

~

They ultimately end up out on the balcony, bundled up in bedding and cozied up together. _There’s bound to be hell to pay_ , Loki thinks as he drifts back to sleep, pulled under by the sound of Thor’s gentle snores.

_After all, there always is_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damage control, and then some.

They ride along in silence, except for the way Sif's car creaks and rattles. For a while Loki alternates between worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth and picking at his nail polish. When neither of those is even close to enough, he does both at once. _You do realize your brother could die from this_ , he hears Dr. Riley admonishing him over and over in his head.

Pneumonia.

_Drugs and violence aren't the only killers of young, healthy people_ , she'd reminded him. _And after speaking with Thor I really do think we need to take the whole possibility seriously._

"She's going to yell at me," he says to Sif. “Dr. Riley, I mean. She's going to," he repeats. "She hates me."

Sif takes a long, slow breath and then sighs. There has been enough fucking sighing around here in the past 18 hours for a martyrs' convention. "I've met Dr. Riley," she tells him. "I’ve worked with her. She's incredibly knowledgeable. And - not for nothing - she's been there. _All_ the there." Sif looks at him quickly, then right back at the road. "I'm pretty sure she's going to handle this rationally," she assures him. "And I'm here with you, baby. We'll get through it."

He picks at his fingernail _with_ his teeth this time. "Why are you doing this, Siffy,” he asks her. “It's Saturday morning. You could be in bed."

"Call me crazy," she says, laughing, and maybe she actually _is_ a little nuts, "but I love you two idiots. Both of you. I want to help make this right. Seriously," she says when he snorts loudly, "I do. But don't push your luck _too_ far," she kids, sweeping one hand around them at the urban landscape. "Because it's a long walk home."

~

Dr. Riley's private office is all the way across town, just about as far from their apartment building as it could possibly be. It isn't an area Loki has seen before, but Sif – he’s listening as she recounts the story; he is! - has been scouting several properties nearby with an eye to opening a new four-bed hospice (see? He _is_ listening). "We can park here and walk the rest of the way," she suggests as her car bumps over the rough sidewalk and into a lot marked _Private!!_ in big red letters.

Letters that look a little too much like- _just stop_ , he tells himself. _Stop. Don't even fucking go there_. "What," he asks Sif, because she’s looking at him rather oddly. "My mind wandered. Sorry."

"I was just saying a walk might do you good," she tells him. "Except you can scratch the _might_ , because now I'm sure of it."

And of course she's right; it does. Not _enough_ good, Loki knows, but they have to start somewhere.

~

"Sif," Dr. Riley greets her as they shake hands.

"Megan," Sif says in return. "Sorry for the inconvenience."

"It comes with the territory," Dr. Riley says, and she and Sif share a private laugh while- while Loki hangs back, away from the action. He's nervous. Really, really nervous. "Morning, Loki," Dr. Riley offers cheerfully enough, stretching a little to see around Sif. "How are you holding up?"

Loki clears his throat. "Shitty," he admits. "I can't get my head around- a lot of things. Including how I may have killed my- my partner. My brother."

"I just got off the phone with him a couple of minutes ago," she tells him. "So far, I can promise you he's still kicking." She leans past Sif and gives his wrist a little squeeze. "Loki, you and Thor can both get through this."

He moves with her as she straightens, wincing as the skin around his injured almost-an-armpit pulls and stretches.

"How's the arm," Dr. Riley asks before he can blank his expression completely. Sif turns to look at him quizzically.

"I tried _vivisection by dull office supplies_ last night," Loki explains. He makes a face. "The choice is yours, Siffy, but if you want my opinion I just can't recommend it."

"Jesus," Sif huffs. "I keep hoping the day comes when you two grow up and learn to use your words, you know?"

Loki sticks out his tongue, just briefly. "On second thought," she goes on, "I'm not sure the world is ready for that, actually."

"I know _I'm_ not," Dr. Riley teases, laughing again.

He sticks his tongue out at her, too.

~

They pick up the locking bag - which Dr. Riley gives directly to Sif and which Loki is very careful not to study too closely - and the first of several sets of paperwork at the office. Afterwards, they follow Dr. Riley to a stately (if miniature) Greek Revival courthouse where they collect yet another set of papers.

“You owe two attorneys and a judge a favor,” she tells Loki as they meet her at the bottom of its broad steps. He blows on his hands, half from nerves and half because his fingers are freezing. “And since you’re not likely to be able to repay it, I suggest you do everything in your power to keep that ass of yours out of trouble.”

She’s smiling, true, but Loki is reasonably certain she’s not kidding.

He nods. “I’ll do my best, thanks,” he tells her. “I really don’t look good in orange.”

~

Their last stop is at Sif’s office, sans Dr. Riley, where they pick up a replacement for the portable plastic urinal Sif had left at the apartment for his brother. Loki opts not to ask her why she totes a urinal around in her car; she, in turn, opts not to tell him.

Which is absolutely fine. Abso-fucking-lutely.

~

And then it’s over, and he can check on Thor.

~

Loki lets Sif help his brother get dressed. Personally, he’s far to close to the situation, on top of which his arm is too sore. The last thing they need right now is a fight, or Thor in horrible pain while Loki is off drowning in a sea of bitter, ugly tears.

Plus, Siffy is used to dressing helpless old people. Maybe she can come dress _him_ next.

~

Either way, he pays his penance in spades during the next leg of their ugly little journey.

~

For starters, his brother is clearly in agony (and just as clearly trying – and failing oh-so-miserably – to hide it). In several of what’s fast becoming many past lives, Loki (is ashamed, just now, to admit he) might have relished this; right this second, it makes him- well, feel sick.

At urgent care, it only gets worse. “Do you have somewhere else to stay,” the very officious manager asks Thor, “where you don’t have to worry about dealing with - _this_ ”, he adds, looking Loki over the way one might a pile of dog shit – “and can concentrate on getting better?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Sif cuts in, and Loki wants to hug her. “I get where you’re coming from,” she goes on, as the manager opens his mouth to argue, “I swear I do, but _I’ll handle this_.”

Wisely, the guy shuts up. Looking at her face, Loki makes a special effort to shut up too.

His poor brother actually squeaks when they administer a shot for the pain. Loki has to pinch his own inner thigh _hard_ to keep from puking.

~

After that, though, life gets a little better. Sif drops Thor – comfortably drugged again, and it really _is_ worth it just to see him smile – back at the apartment, tucked neatly in on the sofa, and she and Loki head out for food.

It’s delicious. Thor loves it. Loki loves it.

Sif wins all the things. All of them.

~

Loki is just this side of collapsing.

The dishes are in the dishwasher. Sif has gone home to a very, very patient Steve. Dr. Riley has given Thor and Loki each a mini-lecture. His brother is drugged, the cats are settled, and the TV is on. Loki is warm and comfortable and- and _worried_. “Do you hate me,” he asks his brother. His voice cracks and wobbles.

“Of course not,” Thor tells him almost cheerfully, probably because he’s clearly more than a little high. “You did what you thought you had to do.”

“But this is better?” Loki frowns at his brother, wishing for the umpteenth time that he really was a mind reader.

“Yeah,” Thor says, quietly. He laces his fingers into Loki’s; his hand is relaxed, now, and warm. “This is perfect.”

And it nearly is, really.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Dr. Riley have a little talk.

"How are you doing today?" Dr. Riley looks- mildly worried, which probably means she's really, really worried. She never lets on what she’s actually thinking.

That's okay; Loki, if he gives himself any chance to reflect upon it, is worried too.

"I'm here," he says. "And I didn't shank Thor and slit the case to get the pills, so I guess that's something." His hands are shaking. It's annoying. He's so tucking over himself already.

"He hasn't been leaving it when you might be tempted to-," she starts off, looking (more worried, and) annoyed.

"No," Loki assures her before she can finish, "he's been really good about that, actually. The first dose, he had Sif help him – the one he had to take when he was still fucked up by whatever they gave him at urgent care - and then after that he's manned up and done everything himself." He forces himself to smile, even though it's not funny and smiling leaves him feeling like his face may crack. "He’s been having me leave the room and everything. He's- he's been awesome. I'm such an ass," he groans.

"Sure," she says gently as he curls down and lets his head smack hard against the chair arm, "there were undoubtedly better ways to handle the whole situation. He could have made better choices and, yes, so could you. But I think you did find a way to salvage things in the end."

Loki makes a derisive snort. "I didn't kill either of us," he tells his own kneecap, and then sucks in a little spit before he can accidentally start drooling. "I suppose that's a good thing.”

"Absolutely," she agrees. "So what's the _but_?"

He doesn’t bother denying anything. She knows; it’s not worth lying. "But I could have," Loki says quietly. He shudders. It simply couldn’t be more true and thinking about it _hurts._

"We always can," she reminds him. "Any of us. You didn't. You got out and you got help, and then you did the right thing by your partner. The right thing _for_ your partner."

"No," he whispers. "That was you. You and Sif. All I did was try to stay the fuck out of the way." He can feel the tears just starting, the little prickling sensation behind his eyes, so he sits back up and buries his face in the chair. "Is it always going to be this way?" Because if it is, he isn’t sure he can stand it.

"Can you look at me," she asks. "Just for a minute or two?"

If he squints, it turns out, he can. It isn't fucking easy.

"Okay," she says when he does manage to focus on her face. He blinks; she lets him. "But try to hear me out before you comment, please."

He shoves his knuckles in his mouth and nods. His teeth are sharp, and not in a good way. Not today.

"It will, on one hand," she admits, and he bites down harder. "But on the other hand it won't. We all have our triggers. You, specifically? The people in your life need to understand they can't surprise you, not with certain types of things. Your partner knows that now," she says, hands out, palms up, "and I don't think we need to worry about him forgetting. Not any time soon, anyway."

Loki huffs out (his hand, and then) something that’s quite a bit short of a laugh. “Good point,” he says. “I suppose I got my point across and then some.” He wraps his arms tightly around himself in sad mockery of an embrace. “Do you still want to use,” he asks her, and then remembers – too late - that the two of them aren’t actually friends. “I’m sorry,” he says, breaking eye contact yet again. He studies his own hands; he hasn’t repaired the damage Friday and Saturday wreaked, and now his knuckles sport deep, red bite marks to boot. “You don’t have to answer, if I’m overstepping. I’m sorry,” he repeats, because he is. He doesn’t even have the excuse of how he’s lit to explain why his mouth does shit like this anymore.

He hasn’t had that excuse in a long time, actually. Hasn’t wanted it, hasn’t needed it. Too bad his stupid fucking reptile brain hasn’t gotten with the program.

“No apology necessary,” she assures him. He can’t look at her again, not yet, but she doesn’t _sound_ angry. “It’s a perfectly reasonable question. And, yes, I sometimes do. But I know acting on that particular _want_ would mean throwing everything in my life away, and so far it hasn’t seemed worth that.”

“But how do you make yourself _stop_ and think long enough that you- that you _can_ know?” For an instant Loki forgets he’s hiding inside himself somewhere and looks Dr. Riley full in the face again. Something in her expression is nakedly horrifying. And then it’s gone from sight, just like that, because he has to look away.

“I don’t,” she says softly. “I’ve built myself a strong support system, and I’ve learned to rely on it.”

Loki shudders. “I- I don’t- going that route still feels _weak_ to me.” He realizes he’s rocking in the chair, still hugging himself like he’s drowning; he makes himself sit still. “I don’t mean to sound like I’m judging,” he adds, because he isn’t. Dr. Riley is one of the strongest people he’s ever met. “Because I’m not. You’re amazing.”

“No,” she corrects him, “I’m lucky. I have good friends and a purpose. You’re actually lucky too, even though you may not always be able to see that.”

He forces himself to take first one and then a series of slow, deep breaths. It’s an exercise Thor once taught him, as unbelievable as that seems. It helps a little; by the ninth or tenth one his head has stopped spinning. “I know you’re right,” he admits, “but I sure the fuck don’t _feel_ lucky.” Instead he feels lonely, and isolated, and sad. Even though the first two, at least are ridiculous; he has more friends now – real, genuine friends who care deeply about his wellbeing and who go to great lengths to preserve it – that he’s ever has before. He has a partner – a lover, himself a friend – who worships the ground he walks on. He has an apartment and a job of sorts and this program to keep him sane.

Yeah, right, like _that’s_ happening.

“ _What the fuck is wrong with me_ ,” he wails, unable to stay calm for long. He thrashes his head from side to side and digs his nails into his own ribs. Whatever else may change, he is never too old or too dignified to throw a good old classic temper tantrum.

“You’re human?”

_That_ shocks him silent. When he opens his eyes again, Dr. Riley is smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thor is sick of being laid up; Loki is sick of himself.

He sweats it all day. Loki doesn’t talk about it much (okay, he doesn’t talk about it at all) in therapy, and he doesn’t wave it around for consideration in DBT, but he thinks about it. A lot. More than he ought to, probably.

Thor is just frustrated. Loki knows that, he does. His brother is not used to sitting around, to being incapacitated and ineffective and unable to do whatever needs doing. And whatever either of them says, Thor’s situation is- well, it’s different than it was for Loki. His brother was fine just a few days ago, and will be fine again soon. This isn’t like recovering from- from drugs and gunshot wounds and years of not-particularly-benign neglect.

And to top it off, of course, Thor is not sick in the fucking head. At least, he isn’t normally. Sitting around is enough to do it to anyone.

Given all that, Loki knows, he should humor his brother. Thor has a point, too; Loki _has_ been getting lazy. With everything that’s been going on, and the added strain of _having narcotics in the apartment_ , he just hasn’t felt inspired to do anything. To _cook_ anything.

Day after day of takeout really isn’t the best idea for either of them; Thor pretty much _is_ within his rights complaining about it. Could he have handled it a little more politely? Undoubtedly. But that doesn’t invalidate his point, or give Loki anything like a good excuse to ignore it.

~

They don’t have jack shit to eat at home.

Loki doesn’t want to tempt his brother into trying to join his intended trip to the store. For once he actually plans ahead; he has the center change his car service arrangements, so there won’t be any unpleasantness after his shelter shift.

The whole thing works out surprisingly nicely; the car is waiting for him about 15 minutes earlier than normal, which is fine – perfect, even - because he’s been rushing around like crazy ever since he first got here. Everything is actually done. Ten minutes later the driver drops Loki off at the nicer neighborhood market.

It’s the swanky market where Loki and Thor always get their seafood, and their best vegetables.

Back in the old days he would have hung around behind a place like this, scrounging for scraps and soliciting the occasional wealthy patron. The wealthy ones had odd tastes, often, but the money was good and the food was better. Sometimes some old rich guy would take him home for the weekend, giving Loki the opportunity to sleep on clean carpet in a heated room.

Yeah, it’s not really the same for Thor. Not at all.

~

The tuna looks delicious, dark red and firm. He gets an ample amount. Loki whips out his credit card at the register; as always, Thor’s plastic takes care of everything.

And Loki doesn’t even have to sleep on the carpet. Not anymore.

~

In the end he buys so much stuff that it’s too much for bags alone. Loki buys one of those little metal carts (the low, boxy ones with the tiny wheels that are ubiquitous to the urban shopping experience wherever older women hail _from the old country_ … the actual country doesn’t matter; wherever they’re from, the carts are the same) and lets it do the lugging for him.

~

Thor has that nice, round ass parked on the sofa when Loki gets home. "Up up," he tells his brother, holding out both hands for Thor to grasp and then shifting his weight way back and pulling. It takes some grunting and groaning on both their parts, but eventually he can tell his brother’s considerable bulk is actually moving. "You're sitting too much,” he chastises. “Come help me with dinner. I'll lift, you chop; kind of a nice change of pace, eh?"

Thor lurches to his feet, and they share a careful embrace.

"Role reversal," Loki points out, meaning a thousand things. No one manages any laughing.

~

At first things don’t go too badly. Loki isn’t normally the one lugging around the giant pots and pans, and he isn’t the one who does most of the actual cooking, but there isn’t any reason he _can’t_ and so this time he does. It’s a good workout, good enough that he’s actually grateful for his recent time spent in the center’s gym. He may not be a _man’s man_ in his brother’s eyes, but that doesn’t mean he has to humiliate himself either.

He settles into an easy, graceful rhythm. It’s almost like dancing. Loki hums near-silently to himself, lost in the flow of what he’s doing, and for a few minutes he nearly-.

"Shit," Thor exclaims sharply from somewhere behind him.

The sudden, loud noise startles Loki badly. "Wha?" He whips around, braced for- for _anything_. "What’s wrong," he asks breathlessly. All he sees is his brother, and the big knife… the one Thor’s been using to slice up what started out as a veritable mountain of tomatoes into caprese salad.

Thor laughs. His voice sounds jittery and strange. "You're too distracting,” he tells Loki, gesturing with the tip of the long blade. “I can’t be trusted with sharp objects around you.”

Too many things come rushing back. It all fills Loki up, threatening to suffocate him. He can’t even swallow; he’s uncomfortably dizzy. Loki carefully sets his spatula – the one he’s using to supervise Operation Tuna-Searing – aside and turns to look- to look _through_ his brother. “That’s funny,” he says, and it couldn’t be less so. “Neither can I.”

“I didn’t mean anything like _that_ ,” Thor says hastily, which only serves to make it that much more clear that he _did_.

“Yeah,” Loki offers, drily. “You never do.”

They stare at each other in silence for a long moment, Loki with his arms folded and Thor with one hand against his injured side.

If they keep at this, the fish will overcook. Because letting that happen would be stupid, Loki takes up his spatula and doesn’t.

~

They sit at the table (which they pretty much never do for dinner) because Thor isn’t really up to getting down to floor level. “This is absolutely delicious,” his brother offers, smiling politely. “You’re so good at this.”

Right. “It’s _tuna_ , Thor,” Loki huffs. “From a _pan_. It’s not the fucking Mona Lisa.”

“Whatever I did,” Thor offers, blinking rapidly, “I’m sorry.” It’s probably meant as a peace offering but it feels like blackmail.

Loki lets out a big, painful sigh. “You didn’t _do_ anything,” he tells his brother. It isn’t true, he doesn’t think, but he can’t begin to explain what’s wrong and he’s sick of fucking trying. “Give it a rest, Thor,” he says, hoping to whatever’s lurking out there that his brother listens.

~

The longer he sits there trying to eat normally, the more intolerable the whole situation becomes. Loki is tired. Bone-tired. He isn’t cut out for this. He just isn’t. He stands abruptly, wincing at the screech of his chair across the hardwood. “I have to pee,” he explains, as Thor looks at him quizzically.

~

It’s true, as far as it goes. Loki does pee.

After he’s flushed the toilet, he studies his own reflection in the mirror for a long time. He looks at the dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. At his chapped lips. At his hair, which is half up and half in his face and all in sore need of a good cut. He’s a fucking mess, and it hardly even matters. He _hurts_ , and he’s exhausted; he has no idea why.

~

“Loki?”

“Go away,” Loki rasps into his own hands. Whatever the problem may or may not be, he can’t stop crying.

“What’s wrong,” his brother asks quietly. Thor _pets_ him, gently stroking his hair. “Talk to me… please?”

“I can barely take care of myself,” Loki says without thinking. Once the door cracks open, everything comes pouring out unbidden. “I can’t do this,” he sobs. “I can’t take care of you. I’m going to fuck it up and you’ll hate me.”

_Oh._

_Fucking hell._

The toilet lid squeaks as Thor lowers himself carefully down onto it. “But you _have_ taken care of me,” he assures Loki. “You _are_. Mom always said I was a shitty patient, too. Well, she didn’t say it quite _that_ way,” he admits, “but you _are_ good at this. Really.” He reaches up and pulls at Loki’s hand. “Come with me. I need to take my medication.”

~

Even though it feels like the world has collapsed around them, everything turns out to be pretty much right where they left it. Except for Marci, who is making sure dinner doesn’t go to waste. “Get down, you big lug,” Thor tries, flapping his hands. She ignores him like he isn’t there at all. “Shoo.” 

“No no wait wait wait,” Loki cuts in as his brother reaches for their big, naughty cat. He hurries past Thor, making sure his brother isn’t the one to grab her. She’s too heavy for Thor to lift right now, after all, and Loki wastes no time telling him so. 

Thor grabs at him instead and plants a wet, sloppy kiss on his forehead. “See? You _are_ doing this,” his brother tells him. “You can.”

Okay, maybe. Just maybe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things for Thor start to get real. Loki likes them better as fantasy.
> 
>  
> 
> _Ugh, while I've been typing this installment, there have been three heroin ODs locally. Timely story is (too) timely?_

Loki tries not to pace. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know his brother is already ridiculously tense, far more tense than something as simple and nonthreatening as _going out to dinner_ should engender, and the last thing he wants is to make things worse somehow. 

It’s just _dinner_ , after all. Dinner with Sif and Steve – Steve, who they both like and haven’t seen since Thor’s failed attempt at flight, because their apartment has been Sick Bay and has gotten disgusting enough that even Loki is embarrassed; no one needs to see this shit, no one – in a nice casual place that’s practically just around the corner. It should be easy.

Clearly, though, it isn’t. And best of all (not!), Thor’s mood is contagious.

~

“Here, this arm first,” Loki suggests as he helps his brother into a comfortable shirt. Thor is still struggling when it comes to lifting that arm – the one on the injured side, which unfortunately happens to be the dominant one – above shoulder height, and that makes dressing a challenge.

Much of Loki’s own early time in Malekith’s _stable_ is fuzzy, to put it mildly, but he remembers very clearly the way Algrim made him struggle into his own clothing. Even when his injured shoulder and ribs felt like they were on fucking fire. Loki is determined to do better by his brother. “No no, you don’t want to put it up like that,” he corrects gently. Thor is getting frustrated. Again. “Just stick both your hands in the sleeves and hitch it up slowly.”

“I _can’t_ ,” his brother growls before Loki can add _trust me_. “This is stupid. You go. I’ll stay home.”

“Don’t be silly,” Loki says as he gives Thor’s shirt a quick tug that pops it up over his brother’s broad shoulders. “Here you go. You’re all set now. Button up.”

Thor sighs. He’s actually pouting. “What if I need to do this while we’re out? I won’t be able to-.”

“Seriously, Thor?” Loki cuts him off, laughing a little manically. “It’s not like we’re hiring you as our stripper,” he reminds his brother, still laughing. “I’m honestly not thinking you’re going to be _putting your shirt on_ during dinner.”

~

Once the latest pill starts to really take effect – they’d discussed it earlier and had made a calculated decision to put this dose off a little in order to get the maximum benefit during dinner - Thor is noticeably less edgy. That gets Loki (briefly, before he tamps it down; these things do sneak out once in a while) wondering if (back in the day) that’s part of what got him started using. With Thor, though, who typically isn’t wound (Loki-style) like a fucking guitar string to begin with, the whole effect is rather funny. _Don’t think I’m slinging you over my shoulder and carrying you home if you doze off_ , he badly wants to mock-admonish his brother, but he simply doesn’t dare. Not with the way Mr. PanicFest has been carrying on already.

~

They’re finally at _coats_ , and he thinks he may actually get Thor out the door after all. Loki’s not fucking that up. He isn’t.

Except his brother manages to get- a mental second wind? Something like that. "I don't want to ruin dinner for everyone," Thor whines (again), just as Loki is finally thinking he can afford to start to relax a little. Yeah, no. "Maybe you three should just go without me."

_Jesus fuck, let it go already_. "Don't be stupid," Loki, whose patience is at best far short of infinite, all but snaps. "If we didn't want you there we wouldn't have invited you. Plus," he goes on to remind his brother a little more pleasantly, because the expression on Thor’s face is so strange that it borders on disturbing and – even considering how sick of this discussion he’s getting - Loki wants more than anything to see it gone. "It's just dinner, and just friends. They miss you."

Thor grunts.

"Come on," Loki suggests, reaching for his hand. "We'll take it nice and easy."

~

Finally getting out of the apartment perks (and sobers) his brother up a little. "My mind is playing fucking games with me," Thor tells him as Loki leads the way out of the elevator and into the lobby. "The longer I sit around, the more I feel like I'll never get better."

"Do tell," Loki exclaims. Been there, done that. But he knows all too well that it’s not the kind of feeling anyone else can _talk away_ , so he doesn’t bother trying.

~

Loki takes great pains to make sure the two of them walk considerably less briskly than normal. Consequently, Sif beats them to the restaurant and snags the perfect table. It’s up front by the windows, quiet and peaceful and with the kind of view they all love. Best of all, under the circumstances, nobody will need to push past them; Thor is always overly conscious of how much space he’s occupying and would otherwise be ducking and scooting his chair in constantly. “Awesome table,” Loki compliments her, smiling (actually) happily. She thinks of everything.

“Only the best for you two,” she teases, but she smiles too and he’s pretty sure she appreciates it that he took the time to notice.

~

They’re all the way through their appetizers – warm bruschetta and crispy garlic toast with dipping oil; nothing fancy or complicated, but it was all delicious just the same – and working on their soup when Steve finally arrives. "I'm so late,” he apologizes as he joins them. “Work has been ridiculous. One of my coworkers is out," he continues quietly, taking a moment to look around and see who else might be within earshot. "She says she was in an accident,” he goes on, apparently satisfied they’re safe here, “but the rest of us think her husband is beating her.”

Sif shoots Loki a wide-eyed look; he shakes his head _no_ as subtly as he can.

“Um, whoops," Steve says, looking back and forth between the two of them. Loki can see the slow flush creeping up Steve’s neck. "TMI? I didn't mean-."

Thor holds up his good hand awkwardly and Steve clamps his mouth shut.

"I've been in multiple abusive relationships," Loki cuts in, as naturally as he can, before his brother gets a chance at making this even more uncomfortable. "These two are overly protective of me,” he explains to Steve, who is red all the way up to the hairline now. “It's no big deal."

"Oh. Right. Sorry.” He looks at his plate. “At least you're out of that now?"

Loki wills Sif to keep silent. "Yeah," he agrees. He just wants them to get off this subject and back to eating. "Yeah, I hope so."

"Hey, are you okay," Steve asks Thor, just as Loki had been tentatively hoping it was finally over. "You're really pale."

"It's nothing," Thor tells Steve. He sets his fork down carefully. "I'm fine."

Because _it takes one to know one_ , though, Loki is positive his brother is lying.

They go back to their meals anyway, albeit with a little less enthusiasm.

~

“What did you mean,” Thor asks him when they’re about halfway home. His brother is clearly worn out; this time, Loki doesn’t have to be the one making them move slowly.

He doesn’t bother playing games, either. Thor’s exhausted; there’s no one else here. “Nothing more than what I said,” Loki explains. “I hope that part of our lives is behind us.”

His brother coughs, just a little. “You don’t _know_ it is?”

Loki glances over. “None of us _knows_ it is, Thor,” he reminds his brother. “It’s always a risk, you know?”

Thor misses a step and weaves a little. “And you’re okay with that?”

Loki shrugs. This is one of those (myriad) things about his life he tries not to examine too closely. “I love you,” he confesses. It’s okay; Thor won’t remember half of this in the morning anyway. “We belong together. If it comes with the territory, it comes with the territory.”

Thor gives up walking altogether. “I don’t want that kind of life for you,” he protests, pulling Loki gently around to face him. “I- I don’t want you to be the person everyone whispers about. You know what I mean,” he complains as Loki pulls a wry face. “It’s not funny.” He’s swaying gently. Too much more of this and he’s going to start crying right out here on the sidewalk.

“I do, and you’re right,” Loki agrees, running his thumb lightly over his brother’s bottom lip. It’s plump and kissable; he refrains. “It’s not. But people are going to whisper about me no matter what the fuck _you_ do. What is it,” he adds when Thor just stands there.

“I’m afraid,” his brother admits, softly. The first tear streaks down Thor’s face.

“Let’s go home,” Loki suggests, tugging carefully at his brother’s hand. “I didn’t want this- this evening out to upset you. I know Steve didn’t mean-.”

Thor almost manages a real cough. “It’s not Steve’s fault,” he insists, “and it’s not yours. I need to stop hiding behind everyone.”

_Oh_. Well, Loki isn’t ready for _that_ conversation just yet.

“We fought,” he corrects. “We always fought. You know that.”

“Not good enough,” Thor protests. “Not anymore.”

“Home,” Loki says again, more firmly this time. He reaches behind Thor and nudges his brother along gently. “We’ll see how you feel about this another time, if you want, when it’s not the drugs talking.”

But he hopes they won’t.

Really, really hopes they won’t.

Because whatever Thor thinks, they are _Not. Fucking. Ready_.


End file.
